


why didn't you stop me?

by cupidelixir



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Dissociation, F/M, Heavy Angst, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Non-Explicit Suicide Attempt, Post-Break Up, Strong Language, manga post-canon, written for resbang 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupidelixir/pseuds/cupidelixir
Summary: Halloween is easily Kim's least favorite holiday. Afflicted by the torrential downpour of deep-rooted memories that plague her every waking moment, and the sudden push from the harsh breakup with her long-time lover, Ox, she finds it hard to stay on her feet.Is it the ghosts of Halloween's past, or a simple case of bad luck?And if Ox truly knows her as well as he claims to, why didn't he stop her?
Relationships: Kim Diehl/Ox Ford, Kim Diehl/Ox Ford(referenced)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4
Collections: Soul Eater Resonance Bang 2020





	1. stage 1- shock and denial: tied down by feeble memories

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I just wanted to give a big big thanks to all of the people who helped this become what you're about to read, I definitely couldn't have done this without them. To my wonderful betas, my artist partner @marshofsleep on tumblr, and of course, the wonderful mods to hold this event together every year.  
> also feel free to listen to the fanmix marsh made for the story, I promise you won't be disappointed 8tracks
> 
> As a warning, most of the triggering content takes place in chapter four, which *is* plot relevant, but also skippable. 
> 
> That being said, thanks for reading and enjoy!

If anything, there was at least one thing Kim had learned after being in a relationship with Ox--he loved Halloween. He loved the costumes, the lively music, the food and the parties. 

It wasn’t a very special conclusion to arrive to, in fact, if the entire population of Death City were to be surveyed, you’d find that the majority would agree. 

This time of year is always that of festivities. The streets and alleyways transform from their typical grim aesthetics and take a more macabre appearance just in time for the holidays. The smell of pumpkin spice and cinnamon waft through the air from the ubiquitous coffee shops and cafes littered throughout the town. Before September could even end, front yards and store shelves stocked their annual Halloween decor enthusiastically and aggressively. 

It was nothing short of unsurprising that people had taken a liking to the holiday. The entire month of October was chock-filled with numerous events to preface the long awaited Halloween night. Adults and children alike anticipated the day when the calendars would shift from the ninth month to the tenth. 

Except for Kim, of course, who had decided that she specifically, hated the month of October. 

Not to spite Ox, though, who had dumped her for presumably the fifth time in two and a half years. Not because of decor, or because of pumpkins--or even Halloween. October had always seemed to be her unlucky month. Since she was a child, the month would be met with hapless pain in its wake, transpiring every year to send her life spiraling out of control over and over again. Kim wouldn’t consider herself to be superstitious, in fact, everyone would call her crazy had she shared her conclusion with anyone but the depths of her mind and her partner, Jackie, regularly and generously offering herself as a sounding board for all Kim’s incessant delusions--but she was convinced. The thin veil of Death City’s ghosts had somehow found a way to melt into Kim’s life every year, and this time, they managed to weasel themselves into the tiniest cracks of her lifeline: her relationship. 

Every morning her hands gripped at the sink counter, she would lose her balance if she stared into the mirror for too long. Her eyes were always sore from the previous night's cries, but it had been easy enough to hide. Kim would have never thought that she was the kind of person that would cry over a break-up, but time changes people, and she was done with this month’s shit. 

She wasn’t crying because she was sad though. No, that’s not it. She’s pretty sure she’s crying over all the lost time. 

Ox had finally grown the nerve, the audacity to break up with _her_ . At first, she wasn’t expecting much. The Kim and Ox train was one that she had been riding off and on for years. They had _years_ full of memories, even before they started dating ‘officially’--and he had ended it for good. 

She would take him back though, she has to. _He_ would be nothing without her, and he knows that, he has to. 

The most difficult part between the hiatuses were always the empty, emotional storm clouds following close behind, like she was waiting out a bout of rain from under a bus stop. The sun would always come shining through the clouds at the end of the day, and all would be well. Kim had made it out alive through much worse, she would prevail. She hoped. That was all she could do these days. Wake up every morning and live her daily routine, praying that the lack of control she had over her life wouldn’t crumble under her fingers any more than it had already.

There was always this looming voice in the back of her head telling her that everything would go to shit, and it’d be all her fault. She could never decipher whether it was true or not. Her mind liked to do that--take advantage of her indecisiveness and send her spiraling down a stair-case of self-destruction. Her self-fulfilling prophecies would always come to pass. It’s a hard thing to admit, but she has no choice but to wait out the storm. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Kim had taken her usual path to work that morning. She had been internally debating whether she should take the longer, more scenic route or swallow her pride and walk the streets where she had built countless remembrances of their bittersweet love upon cracked sidewalks and city parks, all for the sake of a shorter walk. She had chosen the latter. She wasn’t about to become the type of person to needlessly avoid her thoughts. 

Here she was free to imagine him by her side, talking about something she found obnoxious and pretentious. So many wasted words were said on these pavements, so many complaints and confessions. 

When she was younger, she hadn’t a clue as to why he had found her so attractive. She knew that she wasn’t exactly known for her colorful personality, and that was intentional. Being reserved, if not rash and temperamental was a survival tactic as any. She drove people away, that was her schtick. Why he had to be the unpalatable outlier was beyond her. 

Aside from her mercurial conclusion, she still missed him. His absence brought a pang of dullness that hung low in the sweep of her ribs. She wasn’t used to being rejected. Whatever. She was losing any remaining patience she had left to stew in a pot of her own contemplation. 

Kim’s feet absentmindedly dragged along the halls of the empty, barren school before hours. Mondays were the worst. After the defeat of Asura and the fight on the moon, it was essentially her responsibility to be the liaison for the witch realm and the hackette for Kid (who she outrightly refused to call Lord Death, even though he had taken the former’s place; she found it downright hilarious that the little boy who she practically watched grow up was now supposed to be her ‘God’) This fact had become somewhat irritating. Surely he had the means to find someone else to promote to the _adulatory_ position of personal secretary. Or in better terms, Chancellor of Bureaucratic Witch Relations--but she felt more like a glorified assistant. 

Sure, the sporadic banquets here and there were fine, albeit not quite being her scene. Who was she to turn down free food? Jackie had become relatively accustomed to the lifestyle. The paycheck was more than generous, and missions after the opportune defeat of the Kishin were few and far between. What wasn’t there to love? 

A lot, actually. 

The diplomatic way of life wasn’t nearly all that it had been chalked up to be. Meetings with Maaba and the council were hell. Kim was fairly certain that she’d be more engrossed in a meeting of old ladies knitting around a parlor. 

Beyond even that, there were the simple, everyday tasks of your friendly neighborhood witch bitch to take on. There were the perpetual stacks of paperwork she had to file for Kid because he had ‘better things to do.’ The tri-weekly runs to the dry cleaners because he was dead set on the idea that fuzz had somehow permeated through his cloak and onto his fine-tailored suit. Not to mention the morning, afternoon, and evening coffee trips to satisfy his fatigued mind. It was scary ridiculous how much coffee an eighteen-year-old growing Shinigami could consume in just nine hours. The check was generous, sure, but this had to be above her pay-grade.

Or maybe she just wasn’t the right girl for the job. Which was probably the case. If you think about it, she was practically hired on the spot. All she had to do was be the only witch there. Well, the only witch there that Kid “could trust.” That was how this all worked though, right? Just a giant bowl of nepotism soup for Kid to make as he pleased. 

Was that all she was? The token witch who just happened to be there when the moon was being covered in black blood. The “non-threatening” witch who the public could trust to keep relations with the witches civil. Her old dorm nick-name proved otherwise--and the late Lord Death forbid she spills piping hot coffee on her shirt again. _Was_ she really the right person for this job?

Witch relations in and of itself were complicated, as they consistently proved to be. They were the entire reason she left in the first place. 

But as she stood numbly in front of the large door leading into the Death Room, she was reminded of her duty to him, and the seemingly never-ending headaches of diplomacy. She could name about forty reasons as to why she didn’t want to walk down the gruesome aisle of guillotines lined above her head and into the presence of Kid, but one seemed to be the most forthcoming in the front of her psyche. Ox. 

The last thing she wanted to do today was to see him. He had promised all those years ago that he’d accompany her no matter what. Even after all their spats, he never wandered off far. She supposed she was grateful for the gesture, she appreciated someone who could still be loyal after a disagreement. 

She felt the air thicken as soon as she entered the room, tension left hanging in the air like a severed hand atop a dinner table. Despite the infinite expansion of the faux, eternal sky, Kim felt her body flipping inside out. Behold the life of a witch, granted with the blessing or curse of heightened intuition. She saw bad news looming over her head admonishingly, and she wondered when the crows would start appearing from the jagged clouds as a warning. They never came. 

“Hey, good morning! Anything new or just the usual meeting stuff?” She masked the sickening feeling in her stomach with a honeyed voice. 

Kid stared at the witch pregnantly, reminiscent of the glares he would give-respectfully-when something was out of order. She knew him well enough to know that this was not the case.

“Before I begin, I’d like to say how much I’ve appreciated your help with everything,” Kid held his head up stiffly, his breathing steadied and eye contact never wavered for even a second. His hands held each other low in front of him, and his tone reeked of disappointment. “...These new times have been hard on everyone. Nevertheless, we’ve all been trying our best despite the circumstances.” 

Kim nodded, her heartbeat growing to fill the inside of her chest. 

“That being said,” He continued, “I want to be completely transparent with you, Kim.” He pulled out a stack of papers from the drawer of his oak desk. The room, although had the illusion of an expansive desert, was decorated like an office. With the exception of a silver mirror settled in the center of the room, carved intricately with skulls and vines, done with only the most meticulous attention to detail. 

Kid held Kim’s gaze, the air sizzling with tension between them. Kim didn’t bother to fight it, she knew where this was heading. He held the papers out, beckoning her hands to take them from him. 

“I’ve decided to let you go.” He exhaled his tense breath. “This wasn’t an easy decision to make, and we still wish to keep you as a technician stationed here at the post in Death City if you wish to continue that career--but your job in Bureaucratic Relations will be terminated effectively in roughly two weeks time.” 

“...So, you’re firing me?” She took it all in, slowly. She flipped through the tautly papers in her hands, eyeing the dreadful pink slip. Kim hated that job. This is what she’d wanted, right? 

Right?

“Like I said,” Kid assured, “you’re free to continue working as Jacqueline’s partner if you’d like. It’s a lot more flexible, there wouldn’t be so much pressure. You’re a remarkable technician, I’d be an idiot to remove you from your post.” 

Kim forced out a sheepish laugh but appeared nothing but unruffled. Her eyes remained locked in on the papers. She tried to read the words, but her body disobediently hollowed itself out. She peered at Kid in surreal disbelief. At only eighteen years old had he usurped the throne from his late father, Kim could only wonder how many people he had let go when he was hardly even grown--how many people had inevitably blown up at him in harsh, misplaced, anger when he was only doing his job? 

Kim decided that she wouldn’t make a scene. Death knows it only makes things harder when people have to argue, she knew the feeling well. 

“Thank you for your service, Kim.” 

“Sure.” 

Kim held the papers closely to her chest, resisting the urge to rip or slam them into the ground. She felt Kid’s eyes watching her from behind as her shoes click-clacked under the isle of guillotines she once had entered through. The sound echoed through the ghost-quiet room, reverberating off the indiscernible walls and into her ears. Even her breaths sang a melancholy song she couldn’t quite place. Instead of making her way back home, she turned her heels in a different direction. 

The park air was smooth and clean. The light of dawn was only starting to rise above the mountains, coloring the sky in a pale pink hue. Ox had told her one day while sitting in the grass that her hair reminded him of the sky during a sunrise. They were younger then, naive and so blissfully ignorant to the unheralded weight of adulthood looming just around the corner. They thought they would be together forever, Kim laughed critically at the idea. 

She thought warmly of the first time she mentioned her long-term boyfriend to her parents. They had been seething red, their words had combined in a pool of gaping disappointment and shame. It had always been too easy to dissatisfy her parents, she had given up years ago her ambitions of making her parents proud. It had become a cynical game, to see how vexed her parents could become when they learned about her life at the academy. 

Of course Ox had become disheartened when he had heard how much her parents hated him. It was disgraceful to her name to fight for the league that committed terrorism on her people, let alone tie herself romantically to someone of that caliber. Then again, what’s new? Her own birth was considered disgraceful by witch standards, that was something she would never be able to run away from. 

Every time she ran away, it would always come back to bite her. Was this her destiny? To be built up and broken down over and over again? Nothing would ever last long enough to bask in the comfort it brings. 

The once vibrant green leaves morphed into the dark auburn of fall, falling into piles on the grass. It was miraculous, how much things could change in a short time. Kim felt the crunch under her feet as she took her route home. She took deep breaths and matched her steps to the cracks of the pavement. 

All she needed to do was clear her noisy head, filled with the deep set shadows of her past. 

The weight of circumstance settled in the pit of her stomach. It was times like these when she wished she could pray, just like mom told her all those years ago; pray to Hecate, mother of witches, that she could attract the life of her dreams. Attract people to love her. Beckon souls to care for her forsaken spirit.

It’s lonely at the bottom. Whether she fell at her own will or was dragged down by the sweet siren song of her own self-destruction, it was all the same. Every time she feels herself hitting rock bottom, she erodes deeper into the serrated cracks. 

Everything was cracking, crumbling, melting in her hands. 

She would be okay. 

She has to be okay. 


	2. stage 2- pain and guilt: the ugliest things are one's pretty promises

No, she wouldn’t be okay. 

Kim had gotten used to the tender sting in her eyes, the gut-wrenching weight lodged in between the cracks of her heart. Her bones were clay bricks grouted down to her soft, heavenly bed. 

The air in her bedroom felt thicker than it used to, dirty clothes were strewn across the floor in an aimless fashion, she couldn’t find it in her to care. The sun shining through her window wasn’t as bright. Her sleep-crusted lips were uncomfortably chapped to a point where she doubted even water could satiate it. Fuck, she was a mess. 

She pushed her head under the goose-down comforter, swaddling herself under its billowy warmth. If Kim just stayed in bed, stayed for the rest of eternity-or even just a couple of months-would anyone even notice?

Her phone rang noisily from the side table. She hesitated in answering it, sinking her head deeper into the sheets, covering her ears with the pillows. Looks like whoever was calling would notice her absence. 

With a dramatic groan, she pulled herself out of bed answering it at the very last second. “Hello?” her voice was laced with sleep, cracking in her throat. 

“Heey Kim!” The other voice on the line exclaimed happily. It was one of her witch friends. One of the only people associated with the order who wasn’t roughly two thousand years old. “How’s it been? A while, huh? Haven’t seen you in a week, did something happen?” 

“Hey Rusa,” Kim smiled with feigned enthusiasm. She knew no one was watching her, but she hoped that her friend could hear it in her voice. “It really has been a while, I don’t really feel like talking about it too much though.” She deflected and sighed dejectedly. Indeed, it had been a while, it was a dour reminder of her lost job. The confrontation still held sour memories. 

“Well… I was wondering if you wanted to come visit later? You’re obviously not doing anything. Plus, my girlfriend wants to meet you. Can you come?” 

There was no logical reason to decline, lest her sapped mind take over and turn it down. She would much rather spend her days laying in bed from morning to sun-down. Jackie would surely detest. There was nothing worse than an unhappy partner. 

“Sure, what time?” 

“Is six good? She asked. “Oh, and make sure to come with an empty stomach, we’re serving  _ h _ _ ákarl  _ tonight.”

She hated  h ákarl. “Sounds good, Rusa. See you later. Bye.”

“Bye.” 

Kim hung up the phone in the blink of an eye. Oh how she wished to run away again, forget everyone and create a new life. That would take too much work, though. She knew she’d feel worse leaving everyone behind than she does now. Kim would have to suck it up. 

  
  


She knows, though. Deep, deep down in the back of her mind, in the depths of her rousing soul--she does this to herself. So she has no choice but to play it by ear, to reap what she sowed, to punish herself. 

Of course, Kim had slept the entire day away. Until about three p.m. Just another example of her self destructive habits to add onto the mountain of shit that had piled up. Who cares, anyways? 

She does, even if no one else bothers as much as her. 

Given her limited time, she’d have to take a quick shower and get on with it. She wasn’t looking forward to the abrasive conversations yet to be had. Rusa’s never been one to hold off from teasing, or sugar coating her thoughts. At the best times, she appreciated it. Honesty is the best remedy for anything. Yet tonight, she wasn’t completely sure she wanted to hear another batch of vulnerable thoughts eating away at her brain like a parasite even more than they already were. 

No, she needed to forget about it. A nice, cold shower would certainly distract her from unsavory thoughts. 

Except that it didn’t. Kim didn’t believe in baptism or anything like that, but she felt the way about a cold shower like priests did to holy water. Enough time under brisk streams like rain flowing out of the spout could wash away any spiritual dirt that found its way under her thick skin. Unfortunately, today the sharp, cool water running down her back did nothing to stop the aching in her heart. Her attempts at forgetting everything were fruitless. There was truly, no escape to the emptiness.

She ran her short hair under the water, wincing at the gelid stream catching at her ears. She hated the cold, though, it was the desert blood coursing through her veins. But as much as she wanted to grip the handle and end her suffering, she couldn’t. She  _ needed _ to drown her nose under the frigid water. She didn’t deserve an end. She didn’t even know if she wanted an end. 

That was the worst part. 

* * *

  
  


If Kim was able to magically conjure a brown paper bag to wear over her head at this very moment, she would. 

Even if no one was watching her, she always felt at least a tinge of awkwardness from doing the ritual to open up the entrance portal to the Witch’s realm. Sure, it was a simple observance to tradition for every witch who knew how to open up a doorway (even if they didn’t have much control over the means to actually get in.) but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing. 

Of course Maaba had to make it a  _ butt dance,  _ the symbol of “divine femininity,” as they once learned from the time they were young. It was said to be a sacred ritual. A means of protection from the vicious reapers who sought to take their lives. 

But now, it felt more like an inside joke. One that she had been on the butt end of more than enough times. A treaty was formed for a reason. Asura had been defeated. The animosity between reapers and witches had been dissolved, right? Surely the dance wasn’t necessary anymore. 

Besides the unsavory methods, she quite enjoyed walking the streets of her old home. The witch dimension was beautiful. It was protected by Maaba’s spacial magic, inside the border of an evergreen forest. There she had picked fresh mangoes and lemons as a child with her parents, who she soon realized were conditioning her to take on the respectable profession of selling fruits in the local market.  _ That _ was honorable, or at least honest. Definitely not becoming a meister training to fight for an organization made to slaughter their own kind. 

She had also taken Ox here once, when he came to help finalize the nitty-gritty details of the armistice. He had asked her to take him to one of her favorite places.

Despite the unpleasant memory of her childhood, as most tended to be, it had still remained one of her favorites regardless. It was calming, it was solitary--it was perfect. Despite her ever present witch blood, she had never truly  _ felt _ like one. No one had ever treated her like one. Not in the witch realm. 

She didn’t feel “The Pull” everyone had gone on about. She never colored on the walls or broke her toys. She didn’t have excessive outbursts or hyperactive behavior. Her parents always said that she would ‘grow into it.’ That she was just a late bloomer. One day-they reassured-the chaos her soul is made of would awake and she would be normal. She would finally be a  _ true  _ witch. 

Not an invalid. A healing witch—a tanuki witch. 

The day her familiar presented itself was a melancholy memory. It had come like all familiars did, in dreams. Or in swarms. 

She was thirteen, or maybe twelve and a half. She couldn’t remember. What she could remember though, was enough. Her dreams were filled with riches, gold and silver lining in the clouds. Tanukis lay perched under an apple tree, luring her in like honey to flies. 

Kim had never heard of a tanuki witch before. She hadn’t a clue what it had even meant. All she knew was that she could finally rejoice. At last, her days of being an outcast were finally over. 

She spent the next morning taking out the trash, and there they were. Thirteen tanukis, tearing the garbage bags and scarfing down what was left of the waste. Only one had followed into the house. To say she was ecstatic would be an understatement. Finally, she would be the normal daughter everyone wanted her to be. The typical witch everyone hoped of her. She was content with that. Her parents on the other hand, not so much. Long overdue divorce papers magically conjured themselves onto the kitchen table just the next morning. Santa must have come early that year.

Her new raccoon-like friend had followed her into the magic woods that night. Together they picked mangoes and lemons. Well, the tanuki ate the fruit off of the rocky dirt. Kim just cried. 

It was settled, it had been for her entire life. Disappointment was her divine destiny. She would never be a true witch. She would never feel the pull, she would never make her parents happy, and she would  _ never _ join the council—the one that was expected for her to join, at least. 

So they made her pick mangoes and lemons. Because only Death knows that if nothing else, at least she could be useful. If she couldn’t rip the heads off of her opponents with a lion familiar, or create potent spells with a cat familiar; at least she could barter with fruit at the market. 

Kim had told Ox about all of this under these trees. It was quiet, solemn, and a lot harder to say than she ever thought it would be. Frankly, she didn’t even know why she told him in the first place. Was it the vulnerability? The gnawing itch to say something that would soil the happy moment?

She just has to ruin everything, doesn’t she?

Nonetheless, he never cared. He didn’t care if she was a witch. He never seemed to notice that she was simply, utterly horrible--or maybe he did and secretly enjoyed it, who knows? Even so, he always just stood there; whether sun, or rain, or stagnant clouds, and he listened. He listened with the most enamored look plastered on his thin face. He gazed at Kim like she was his world.

Was she still his world? Was he  _ ever  _ hers?

Kim tried to fill her mind with pleasant thoughts rather than the latter. There was only so much reminiscing that could take place in a day. Her attempts were unavailing however as she simply couldn’t find anything pleasant to think about. Instead, her bitter thoughts were replaced with words off of street signs and the calls of street vendors trying to lure her in. 

See, the trick is not to look them in the eye. Because the moment they notice your bright pink hair and ashy elbows is the moment they suck you in. No, she didn’t need traditional squid ink hair dye, and she was even less interested in forty dollar organic goat milk lotion for her “ _ little problem _ .” Pity the fool who doth turn their head at the mendacious sirens of the Witch realm. 

Rusa’s apartment was just around the corner, nestled in between three other copy-and-paste complexes in the middle of the city. It reminded Kim slightly of the girls dorms back at Shibusen. The only place at that god-forsaken school where you could hear a pin drop through the paper thin walls. This was supposedly a school training the next generation of elite Kishin-slayers and yet they couldn’t afford to sound-proof the walls just a little bit?

Kim wouldn’t have noticed the paper thin walls of her friend’s apartment had she not have heard the strident and venomous argument from what she hoped to be their next-door neighbors. Again, it was hard to tell. Kim arrived to the conclusion that if she heard a window shatter that she would leave immediately. What was telling Rusa that she had a headache versus getting in the middle of an awkward lover’s spat? Losing a little bit of her moiled integrity wasn’t worth the second-hand embarrassment. 

Kim knocked on the mud-brown stained pale-green door, praying she wouldn’t punch a hole in it. She didn’t really feel like paying to get it fixed. A loud bang on the wall from the neighbors jerked him out of her thoughts. 

“ _ You’re such an insufferable bitch, Kara. That’s it--I’m done! I want a  _ **_fucking_ ** _ divorce. Pack your shit, I'll pay for your hotel. Just leave.”  _

Damn. That hit hard. Must’ve been the guy Ox was taking lessons from on how to break someone’s heart. 

That being said, ten seconds was plenty of time to be standing on someone’s doorstep enough to warrant leaving, right?

Kim was definitely considering it--until she heard three squeaky deadbolts creak open and the hyperactive visage of her friend peeping out the door. 

“Hey Kimmie. Come in--come in!” She ushered her inside the apartment, quickly latching the deadbolts closed behind her. As soon as she stepped in Kim could feel the putrid smell of the fermented shark travel ruthlessly through her nose. “Make yourself at home.” 

Rusa shuffled through the living room, making her way to the dimly lit kitchen. A black haired girl was there- presumably her girlfriend-dicing the h ákarl and serving it onto small glass plates. At the sound of Kim throwing herself onto the couch her head perked up above the island. Rusa grabbed her hand and led her over for introductions. 

“Keno, this is Kim--the one from the D.W.M.A that I was talking about earlier.” She smiled and gestured to the girl beside her. “Kim, this is my beautiful  _ sea unicorn _ of a fiancé Keno.”

“Oh my God babe stop-” she laughed and nudged Rusa’s shoulder playfully. “It’s nice to meet you though, Kim.” She held her hand out and grasped Kim’s in a firm handshake. The pair scuffled past her legs, making their way to the matching loveseat nestled against a wall in the small room. 

“You too.” Kim’s lips played an overly-enthusiastic smile and she straightened her back, trying her hardest to be polite and not grimace at the pungent smell permeating the air. “You said fiancé, right? Congrats. Rusa never told me she was  _ getting married _ .” 

“OH-Right. Surprise! Sorry, it just kind of slipped my mind.” She scratched her neck and smiled bashfully at her partner, only to be met with widened eyes and a dramatic face palm. 

“Our  _ marriage _ slipped your mind?”

“Babe, everything slips my mind it-” Neurotic sobbing from the other side of the wall interrupted her excuse. The next-door neighbors were back at it again. “Besides, love. Do you want to end up like them?” 

“Ugh.” Keno sighed. “I’ve been telling you we need to move out of here soon. I can’t take the noise anymore.” 

“You know how bad the H.O.A fees are around here. I doubt any place we find within our budget will be much better.” 

“You work for the council, Rusa. Do they really not pay you enough to get a new place?” Kim piped in. 

Rusa ran her hand through her slick blue hair. “Not really. I’m thinking I might have to pick up another job soon.” 

“Let’s not think about that too much.” Keno reassured her fiance with a pat on her lap. “Anyways… Kim, you work at the D.W.M.A? How have you not gotten bludgeoned with a rock yet?” 

“The treaty is still pretty new. I think it would look bad on the school if Kid executed me. They’re already having budget issues with the decrease of Kishin activity around the world, I doubt killing me would solve anything.” Kim said. 

“Kid?” Keno asked. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. He’s the new Shinigami--everyone called him Kid when we were younger so I guess it just kind of stuck.” 

“The two of you were friends?” 

“Something like that.” she quipped. 

“Yeah,” Rusa laughed, “Kimmie’s been going there ever since she was thirteen. She even helped sign the peace treaty after the defeat of Asura. Makes sense she’d be all buddy-buddy with Mr. Child-Death himself.”

“Wow.” Keno replied. All the attention was making Kim uncomfortable. Being reminded of her lost job wasn’t helping the growing nausea in her stomach either. She had no choice but to smile it off. 

Rusa’s eyes peered up at the popcorn ceiling in thought. “Hey now that I think about it, we met the first time you came to a council meeting, right? You and your boyfriend--how is he doing by the way? Last time I saw him was about two weeks ago with a new intern or something like that.” 

Kim didn’t know what she wanted to reveal to her first: That the new “intern” was most likely her replacement because her job was terminated, or that Ox wasn’t her boyfriend anymore. 

Kim decided that she would tell her about Ox instead. It would be much easier than explaining exactly why she was fired. Rusa would probably riot.

“Uh,” Kim took a deep breath dejectedly, “Me and Ox aren’t together anymore. We broke up about three weeks ago.” 

Rusa clapped her hands and whooped. “About time, girl! That was long overdue. How did he react when you dumped his ass?” 

“He actually broke up with me first.” The mood in the room grew somber, and Keno’s face dropped empathetically.

“I’m so sorry. That’s horrible.” she apologized and patted Kim’s knee. She just shrugged. There was no point in trying to make excuses now. It wasn’t horrible. In fact, Kim was certain she deserved it. 

Rusa must have agreed. “You don’t need to be sorry, love. They break up literally all the time, she’ll survive.”

“Rusa!” her fiance scolded, “Don’t say stuff like that.” 

“What?” she asked defensively, “It’s true!” 

Bless her kind heart--she only wanted to help.

“It’s okay.” Kim reassured, “She’s right, It’ll be fine. I didn’t even like him anyways.” Kim laughed sheepishly. But her heart suddenly started to feel heavy. 

“Well,” Keno tried to change the topic smoothly, “We have some hakarl if you want some. Can’t let it sit out for too long or it'll get warm.” 

They all got up from their seats on the couch and made their way over to the dark oak table. Kim noticed the wobbly leg on the side she was sitting at and tried to tug at it to balance out the weight being distributed. She only off centered the table more, but she decided to ignore it. 

Kim poked at the fermented shark with her fork, idle conversation echoing around her head in a hazy blur. She answered questions the best she could muster, but the scent of the fish and the weight in her ribs had gotten the best of her dazed mind. Each piece of fish tasted more and more like a dirty dish-sponge with every bite.

Kim felt like she had fallen through the floor. Why was she like this? There wasn't a real reason to be down, and she hated the feeling.

Kim tried to disguise her dejectedness with a thin smile. She felt out of place. The atmosphere was finally getting to her. The couple (Or rather the neighbors on the verge of divorce) had stopped yelling at each other. Now there was only empty silence in its unseemly wake. 

It made her ponder as to why the fight had broken out in the first place. Was one of them a dirty cheater? Did their personalities conflict with the other too much? Was her mother-in-law too overbearing? There were endless possibilities to the chaos, and yet Kim would never know. 

_ Why did he have to leave? We were so happy... _

Kim tried her hardest to brush her thoughts aside, but they remained undeterred. 

_ “It was my fault wasn’t it?” _

_ “God Kim. You just have to drive everyone away.” _

_ “Did he ever love you?”  _

Tears pricked at the corners of Kim’s eyes. She could feel her face reddening and her chest closing in on itself. She felt her breaths come out in thick, tensive puffs. This was all going to shit. 

“Hey,” Kim interrupted their passing conversation about something that felt like a distant world. What she needed was to get out of there. She tried to wipe the forming tears at her face before her voice started to show it. “Can you show me to your bathroom, please?” 

“Sure thing.” Rusa’s voice bled with concern. Had she noticed Kim’s atypical behavior? Kim internally masked her chagrin with indifference. Why does what she thinks matter anyways? 

Their bathroom was cramped with only the necessities. Kim didn’t care. Her knees wobbled below her crushing form. She held herself up with her feeble arms gripping the counter and stared at her red, sore eyes in the mirror and felt her nose throb suddenly with sharp pain. 

And she let the tears fall. 

Kim hadn’t cried like this in forever. Let alone in someone’s bathroom. She tried to quiet her sporadic sobs, but the crushing weight of the piling troubles was enough to let it flow out of her like an acid rain. 

Kimial Diehl didn’t cry like this. What was wrong with her?

She watched herself in the mirror as her tears slid down her face. She cracked a poor smile, trying to make herself feel better. But it only humiliated her even more. There was something pathetic about crying in a bathroom that made her legs want to give out and fall to the floor. To hold herself together on the linoleum tile and just let it all out. 

She wanted to. 

But she didn’t. 

Instead she brought wet paper to her stinging eyes, wiping the mascara that had run from her lashes. She took a deep breath and picked herself up from the sink. She’ll face her stupid problems tomorrow. 

Tonight she would take a cold shower and cry it all out.


	3. stage 3- anger and bargaining: it is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on

Kim stirred awake from her slumber to the harsh knocking on her door. She swore it was only 5:30 and the sun had barely peeked out of the clouds. The sky was a deep blue, and the rays of the sun wrapped around the puffy clouds like gold thread, a sign of the wee hours of the morning.

Kim always kept her door locked tight until nine a.m at the earliest. Unless someone was dying, choking, or on fire, there was no reason for her to open it. 

But the knocking persisted, undeterred by her spiteful silence. “WAKE UP KIM.” Jackie yelled from the other side of the bedroom door. She gripped the handle and shook it haphazardly, despite it being locked. “Death called us in for a mandatory meeting, you need to get up.” Her desperate voice was muffled through the wood 

“WHY?” Kim shouted in a cracked screech. The kind you get from not talking for a while. She yawned, “It’s not like I work there anymore.” 

“Yes we do, Kim.” she heard Jackie's body slump against the door defeatedly. “Please just get up. I know you’ve been in a bad mood lately but if we don’t do this then we might really have nothing...”

Kim flipped her duvet covers over her body. “Ugh, fine Jack. I need coffee first though.” 

“We’ll get some on the way, okay?” Her voice grew fainter as she walked away from the door. “You have about thirty minutes. Get ready or I'm leaving without you.” 

Cheeky bitch. Jackie always knew how to get Kim worked up in the morning. She supposed that’s the payoff of being someone’s partner for 6 years. You learn all sorts of nasty tricks on how to wake someone up or how to make their coffee exactly right. 

She was lucky to have her, that she would admit. To herself at least--Jackie already knew she was the best one for her. No need to bring it up. 

Kim moved slothfully around her room brushing her short matted hair. She couldn’t remember when the last time she brushed it was, exactly. The days had begun to melt into each other and the subtle distinction between every sunrise was growing weak. The motivation to get out of bed every morning was wearing thin, and sometimes she wouldn’t. 

As of recently, she was quite enjoying the luxury of not having to travel to the witch realm every morning. Having to manufacture her enthusiasm for a job she was saddled with at the young and impressionable age of eighteen was growing tiring. 

The reality was, time and convenience doesn’t last forever. One day she would have to wake up and face life head-on, out of that slump she had thrown herself in. 

Kim was doing quite well if she said so herself. It had been a long three days and she hadn’t even thought about him.  That was enough for a means to celebrate, right? She had worked long and hard at getting the plague named Ox Ford out of her head. And now it was gone. 

Her manufactured enthusiasm for this morning, however, wouldn’t last long. Unfortunately for her, Ox was still an active technician stationed right in Death City, ready for action as soon as there was any. 

_ At least he still had another job.  _ Kim thought bitterly. 

Combined with the stagnant Kishin activity and the fact that students were responsible for taking missions that didn’t require professional meisters, Kim  _ was _ as good as out of work. Her and Jackie had started to dip into her parent’s trust fund made to be spent for tuition at a prestigious ivy-league college Kim could only imagine attending in her wildest dreams to pay for their rent. 

Lucky for Kim, Jackie had almost been as much a disappointment to her parents as Kim was to hers. To their dismay, Jackie had persuaded them that becoming a Death-scythe was just as notable as becoming a lawyer or a doctor. Still didn’t happen, as Soul had taken the title of “Last Death-Scythe.” leaving his entire graduating class without a shot at the position. But it was the principle of it, right? 

Kim and Jackie made it out of their studio apartment just in time to grab a cup of warm coffee at the local Deathbucks cafe. A poster hung on the front of the window advertised for new hires, Jackie had suggested that she apply, as they wouldn’t be able to bathe in the comfort of a full wallet for much longer. 

The sun had fully risen and was blinding from the bottom of the steps to the school. It burned their scalps from the back of their heads as they climbed the stairs, reminiscing of the days they used to go to school together. 

The large stairs were a nauseating hallmark of the school. It was said that some had died just from falling off the top step and tumbling to the pavement at the bottom. It was fitting considering even the name of the school. What kind of place would a school run by Death be if not even one kid had died before? 

Students loitered around the front yard, studying or getting ready for school to take place. The hustle and bustle of the students was enough to make Kim’s ears hurt. But alas, as disruptive and loud as kids could be, she simply drowned it out with her thoughts and walked to the death room. 

Kim had almost forgotten the monthly endeavor that was meeting Kid for XX. He always claimed that communication was necessary to gauge exactly the state of the world, no matter how short or long the meetings could be. 

Due to the nature and state of the world, they really shouldn’t last that long. But of course, BlackStar always has to waste time by dawdling off on a tangent about how great he is or something of the sort, in his typical fashion. Kim never had much to say in the perspective of a meister. She almost always spoke of her business with the witches, and Ox would accompany her. Kim wondered if her replacement would be there too. 

She wondered if Ox would be sitting next to her. Whispering in her ear. Making her laugh with his stupid humor and speaking to her like an equal like he used to do with her. 

She wondered if they would present together. If Kim would just have to sit there quietly as the one thing she was mildly good at was pried out of her cold, dead hands. 

She prayed that it would go smoothly today by some miracle sent by the universe to cut Kim just a little bit of slack. She wasn’t in the mood to play around. As soon as she would leave her plan was to go right back to sleep. The shorter the meeting, the better. 

* * *

There’s something so demoralizing about watching two people get closer and closer to each other, especially when one of them is your ex-boyfriend, and the other, your poor incognizant replacement who looks a little too much like you to be coincidental. It’s even worse when you’re sitting only six feet away and you can hear every laugh and snide comment and soft whisper to not interrupt. 

Maka’s voice fell on deaf ears. Ears intently trying to tap into whatever remark Ox said that was  _ so  _ funny. 

Kim reminded herself not to be jealous. Jealous that someone else was making him smile. Jealous that he’d only looked at Kim once with an awful, callous scorn--to which he immediately continued his mushy banter, and with another girl, no less. 

Kim dared to ask the question in her mind.  _ What does she have that I don’t?  _ As if envy was a natural instinct born from her burning soul. 

The witch appeared only a little older than Kim. Maybe about twenty-three or twenty-four if she had to guess based on looks alone. A perfect smile graced her lips like a scene out of a toothpaste ad. Her dainty hands moved vehemently as she spoke. Though she looked like the spitting image of Kim, only with a little more maturity tacked onto her back, they couldn’t be more different. She was everything Kim was not. 

Amiable. Charming. A sheer manifestation of everything she couldn’t be--spotless and unmarred by wracks of guilt and insecurity. 

Or at least that was the narrative she created in her head. It was a hell of a lot easier to push away her resentment if she made herself believe that the only thing she had to compare herself to was perfection; because, no one can  _ truly _ be perfect. It would just make her feel considerably better if the other girl was. Then it would be Ox’s fault for having unattainable standards, not Kim’s for being unable to reach them. 

Everyone has flaws, some more than others, but at least Kim knew when to shut her mouth. Sure, Maka’s exposition on the correlation between Halloween and Pre-Kishin activity hadn’t been the most engaging thing in the world--neither was the yoga class the witch continued to rave about, but at least one was on topic. 

Today had felt like the freshman year of highschool all over again. She woke up at the same time. Saw the same people from her graduating class. Felt the same overemotional and existential dread of a classic pubescent teenager. It was all there. Except the raging hormones and body odor, she wasn’t all too nostalgic for that. 

Kim remembered when he was fourteen. God, how she cringed. He was like any other teenage boy, sort of. Definitely the opposite of whatever Black Star was. She remembered how confident he was of his hair, which he still hadn’t grown out, much to Kim’s dismay. Joke’s on him, though. He’s gonna regret keeping his hair cut like that when he’s old and balding. 

They had been an unlikely match, as were most of Kim’s relationships in life-her friends, her partner, her ex-boyfriend-it’s funny how the world works like that. Throwing people in your direction that have the power to change you, or at least influence you one way or another. 

Kid didn’t let the meeting drag on for too long. It’s only purpose was to go over newly-implemented protocols, and yet, the universe still found a way to waste Kim’s precious time and make it an hour long. 

She didn’t dawdle talking to her old classmates. She hadn’t seen them in a while, but she didn’t need to. Everyone had their own problems that were tacked on to growing up: bills, rent and insurance deductibles; or relationships and just trying to make it throughout the monotonous reality of your boring day-job before you inevitably rip your head off. 

Kim could legally get drunk off of wine coolers in a shitty bar somewhere in the depths of Death City now (curse her obnoxiously low alcohol tolerance) but she still didn’t feel like an adult yet. She wondered if she would ever? It felt like only yesterday she was seventeen and ditching class was the next best rebellious thing to running away from home. When was she going to wake up and pull her life together? How many twists and turns would her life need to take before she could confidently say she was grown yet? 

Or maybe age was just different for witches. Statistically, she would outlive everyone in this room. Except Kid, but that’s a given. 

She wondered if everyone else felt the same, and they were all just really good at hiding it. 

Kim’s eyes had wandered off to Ox again, who was now making polite conversation with Harvar. Ox had noticed her stare in his peripheral vision. He looked at her askance, and appeared anything but contrite. What was his issue? She hadn’t even talked to him!

She must have been making faces now, because Jackie pulled her out of her trance, tapping her on the shoulder. “Are you okay, Kim?” She had turned her head back to the pair as well. “He’s stupid, you know that right?” she reassured. 

“Yeah, I know.” Kim sighed. “Do you wanna get out of here? I’m ready to go back home.” 

The walk back outside was quieter than when they arrived. Kim and Jackie walked in tensive silence. The lantern could sense something was wrong, she had for a while now. Jackie had no doubts about Mr. Ford himself being the cause, she was willing to bet there was a lot more about the situation than Kim was letting up on. Dodging the conversation just wasn’t cutting it anymore, she had to at least try. 

“Seriously, Kim.” She badgered once they had entered the fresh open air, hoping it would encourage some sort of healthy dialogue. “What’s wrong? Is it because of Ox?”

Straightforward was always the way to go with her. 

“I’m fine Jackie,  _ really _ .” she said. “You’re acting like I’m desperately in love with him or something…” 

“Are you desperately in love with him?” 

She had cut her off with her question. Kim took a breath, ready to reply, and then deflated back into her head for a moment to think. “I don’t know.” she concluded. That was as close to the truth that she was willing to admit. Kim’s feelings had always been complicated. That was simply the best word to describe it. Of course she liked him once, if she didn’t there was no chance she would have given him a shot. There were parts of him she loved, though she couldn’t really pin-point them now--but they were there. They had to be. 

“So…” Jackie asked. “What are you going to do about it?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Well,” she played it smoothly, “Whatever you do--don’t call him-or even think about calling him-I promise you’ll regret it.” 

They laughed together, walking down the streets of the beautiful city, their home. That sounded like a good idea, for now. 

* * *

Kim regretted her decisions as soon as she pressed his contact. Her heart quickened in trepidation as she watched his name ring on her phone. 

He didn’t answer. 

She knew she shouldn’t do it--but the temptation was too hard to resist. She was alone in her two-bedroom-apartment. There was no one to tell her not to other than her own common-sense, which even she acknowledged was a rather fleeting thing these days. 

She knows she should give up after the first try. Nevertheless her finger still drifts back to the call button and she watches in anticipation as it rings. He doesn’t answer. 

She draws in her breath.  _ Third time’s the charm. _

He still doesn’t answer. 

Now it’s just an impulse. The high of watching the phone ring and impetuously waiting for an answer. She’s holding onto the loose thread of obtuse hope that he’ll answer--after four times. After thirteen. After the patience of sitting out his ringtone wears thin. 

Her adrenaline rush dies down when she notices the ring end sooner with each interminable call. He was declining it on purpose now. 

Kim was growing desperate. The little cricket in her ear telling her she needed to hear his voice speaking to her, saying her name like he used to. She needed to know he hadn’t given up on her yet. Not yet. 

The sound of the dial-tone ceased as soon as it had started. The automatic monotone voice playing on her speakers.“ _ Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. (702-XXX-XXXX) is not available.  _ _ At the tone, please record your message--” _

She shouldn’t be doing this. 

“Hey Ox, it’s me--uh Kim.” She scratches her neck and hopes he can’t decipher the desperation in her voice. “I need to see you again. Just meet me at the park tomorrow at six or something, I don’t know. Or call me?” 

She sighed in frustration, throwing her phone down on the counter. She debated sending the message in her head, conflicting thoughts leading her finger back and forth. To the enter or decline button--that was the question. 

Her mind told her to press the big red button, letting all of her foolish hopes float away and dissolve into the wind like they never existed. Her heart told her that too--what she wouldn’t give to just forget about him for eternity? 

Kim’s conscience however, chooses violence. What better way to ruin your own life than to sabotage yourself? She needed to send it--and she did. 

She let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding in the first place. If this was how she would die, then so be it.

* * *

Kim played with the hem of her shirt uneasily. The park was a barren scene underneath the steadily setting sun. Gray clouds whirled above the pink sky, the smell of the desert’s annual winter rain looming on the town. 

Regret burned a permanent insignia in her chest, and she bit her lip, harder than she knew was healthy. Her hands had moved from her shirt and pulled strips of sharp bark off the trunk of the tree. Having something to hold and pick made her feel less like she was falling into a bottomless pit of her own sullen mood--it was a hard feeling to explain, but it helped her mind from imagining the thousands of ways her actions could come back to bite her. 

Kim wasn’t sure he’d come. 

She wasn’t even sure if he had seen her voicemails. There was no indication that he hadn’t just blocked her contact and deleted all of her messages. Hell, if she was in his place that was what she would do. 

Then why was she here? Why was she still holding on so desperately to the thought of him still loving her? When would she just give up?

She had stood under this autumn tree for an hour, checking her surroundings left-and-right intermittently for his figure crossing the empty streets, lest he had forgotten or just wanted to make her suffer a little bit. 

With every minute that passes she urges herself to leave--and then she tells herself to wait five more minutes.  _ Just five more minutes, he’ll come.  _

Because she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he doesn’t. If she knows that he’s really gone  _ for good.  _ That he’s not begging for remission, crawling and clawing at her legs to stay by her side as she looks down at his head and kicks him back like a rabid dog.

The common sense she has left tells her to leave, but then she miraculously sees him. He crosses the street with a huff and spots Kim in his peripheral vision, his face pulls into a scornful grimace. 

He was still a good fifty feet away and Kim could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She could hardly bear to look him in the eyes, afraid of what she’d find. Cool, calm and collected, or a burning and vehement hatred--either possibility washed cold fear straight through her bones

His footsteps squished in the wet grass as he made his way to Kim. Seeing him make his way to the tree was...weird. Just weird.

That was the best she could do. 

Weird that she hadn’t actually spoken to him in weeks. Weird that  _ she  _ was the one who wanted to talk to him--not the other way around. 

She wanted to yell at him, more than anything. Deny whatever excuse he’d give for being a dick. 

But when he stood in front of her, only a good three feet away, any choice words she would have said stuck in her throat. At first, they just stood and stared at each other. Not sure what to say, both of their eyes wandering off to things in the distance trying to find the right words. 

“You came.” Kim built her confidence up from the floor and she looked him in his eyes. Perfect neutrality, she didn’t know what to think. 

“What do you want, Kim?” He spoke coldly, crossing his arms. “I told you a while ago, we’re done.” 

She knew that. She knew this was dumb. She knew this was impulsive. She knew it was a bad idea. She just needed to see him. If she was being honest, she needed to know that he was suffering too, that her anguish wasn’t one sided. 

“I know. I know.” She said. “I guess I just need closure.” 

That was the truth. If not a little twisted and complete. She needed to know what she did. She deserved that, at least. 

His face turned derisive. “What closure? Was I not clear enough the first time?” He sighed, and his face softened with it. “Once, I thought what we had was special. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

“I just don’t get it, I guess.” She shrugged. “What did I do to you?”

“It wasn’t just one thing. You did lots of things. Don’t you see that?”

Kim hardened her expression, attempting to callously show her stability, but his confession pinched and pulled at her insides. It felt so real, now. The consequences of her compulsions were finally starting to wave their hands abruptly in her face. She had to be honest with herself. 

“I loved you, Ox. Just tell me why you left.” She played it light and easy. “Just tell me that and I’ll let you be on your way.” 

“You want to know why?” He spoke harshly, “I'll tell you why.” 

“You put up this wall--well, it’s more like a cage.” He said. “You always make sure everyone knows something’s wrong but then you don’t let people help you. I’m tired of always trying to break it down when it’s obvious you don’t trust or respect me.”

That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Kim hadn’t acted like that since she was in high school. Besides, who cares? Why should anyone have to worry about her stupid problems anyways. 

“You’re not entitled to anything.” She said. “I don’t have to tell you anything about me.” That was it. If she wanted to keep things a secret she could. Life is just like that sometimes. 

Her words didn’t sway him, he appeared indifferent as ever. “I’ve always trusted you, Kim. Through everything. I’ve always accepted you unconditionally and so desperately tried to help make a place for you in this world. Maybe you’re right and I don’t deserve even an inch of kindness out of you, but I’m tired of trying.” He sucked in his breath and inched closer, a perfect view into Kim’s glassy eyes. “That’s why we’re done.”

Kim had imagined a reunion between them more than she cared to admit--the scene always melodramatic, romantic, and happy at the end. Reality couldn’t have been more different. She wasn’t prepared for the pure force his words held, knocking her off balance, hollowing her out. 

Her lips tingle from phantom kisses, burned and aching with memories and regret. 

He was throwing all of this away. Throwing her away. 

“You can’t say that.” She shook her head solemnly. “It’s not good enough.”

He laughed cynically, adjusting his wide-brimmed glasses. Running through her words with a fine-toothed comb. “What’s changed Kimial?” He uses her full name, her witch name--and she breaks. “I was never good enough for you to begin with.”

Bile rises in her throat as she so hopelessly 

tries to shake it off. “That’s not true. I-”

“Don’t you want me to be happy, Kim?” 

He stopped her short with his question. Her soul fell through the dirt. Feelings were complicated. He’d always been a bit of a pushover, but the worst parts of her parts loved his fire, his tenacity, regardless. She could only give as good as he gave, which wasn’t much--she’d admit that she hadn’t been her best self in a while. 

The air around them grew stiff. A chill sweat hit by the wind threatening to run down Kim’s neck. Ox’s gaze never wavered, his face stern and stone cold. They were such simple words, with an even more simple answer, but they stuck like a trap to Kim’s chest, constricting her lungs from taking in any air. 

  
  


“What?” her voice let out in a cracked whisper, she wasn’t capable of anything more. Bleach-like tears trickled down her red cheeks, leaving a fiery hot stream in its wake. Her vision fish-eyed into the man in front of her, him being the focal point of everything now. 

_ Kim Diehl doesn’t cry.  _ Save it be for a few exceptions to her mantra. She couldn’t let herself be vulnerable in front of him like this. She didn’t want to be. 

“You heard me,” he sighs, his chest puffed in determination. Confidence he never had when he was with her. “Don’t you want me to be happy?” 

Kim was strong, she was angry, and she  _ couldn’t _ cry--not now. But she choked and her legs grew limp. Had she not been manually holding herself together, she would have let out, bringing her down to her knees like a sinner to a parson. If the sky had fallen above her head, she wouldn’t have noticed. If the world crumbled beneath her feet, she didn’t care. 

“Of course.” she whispered. But by god, as much as she wanted to let him go, she couldn’t. She  _ can’t  _ accept this. 

“I’ve been good, Ox. I’ve been trying so, so hard to be good. Everything was going great! What did I do?” 

“It wasn’t  _ just  _ you, Kim. Know that, at least.” His trembling hands fall into his pockets. “It was me too. I woke up one morning and had an epiphany.” 

_ An epiphany.  _ Her hands scrape harder at the bark, the tips of her fingers burn red, one more scratch and she’ll bleed. “And what would that be…your epiphany?” 

He stares dead into her eyes “I never  _ loved  _ you, Kim.” 

Now she’s completely sure that she’s breaking in front of him. Her audible gasp was more trying to grasp for air rather than of genuine surprise. She can’t breathe, and she’s not surprised, this feels too much like a nightmare. Above everything, she feels angry and hurt and wounded all at once. Her voice comes out louder than she wanted. 

“You  _ lied  _ to me?!” It’s her turn to scowl, and she pokes an accusing finger at his nose. “All this time. Wasted! And you  _ fucking  _ lied to me throughout all of it!” 

Ever the condescending pragmatic, his eyes remain steady on hers, and his hostile tone remains. “Not completely, “ he deadpans,”I  _ thought _ I loved you, but I guess I was wrong.” 

Kim pinched the bridge of her nose, it took all of her might to keep from slapping him. “And you’re telling me it took you  _ four years  _ to realize this? Four years of leading me on. Four years of me trying to convince myself that  _ I  _ was good enough for  _ you _ ?”   
  


He just shrugged. That was it. 

“And you had this ‘epiphany,’ what, a month ago?” Kim asked. 

“No.” his face faltered slightly, only to return to his stone cold facade, “It was about a year ago actually, around  _ Halloween... _ ” 

Halloween. October. It was  _ always  _ October!

“...and I guess I had realized that I was always pressuring you into things, including this relationship--and I realized things about you too.” 

“Oh, you did huh?” She shook her head, “And what would that be?” 

“You never loved me either.” 

“How could you say that? You led me on, convinced me that I was capable of being loved and now you say  _ i’m  _ the one who never loved you? That’s ridiculous.” 

Ox folded his hands over his chest, refusing to accept her words as truth. “Why did it take you so long to accept my advances, then?” 

_ What?  _ “That’s completely normal, Ox. It takes time for people to develop feelings.” 

“You were  _ Always  _ cold, Kim. Always...”

_ That’s just her personality _

“You never communicated anything with me. Ever…”

_ He’s not entitled to anything.  _

“You had rushed into this...just as much as I had.” 

As much as she wished he would stop talking, he kept going, listing off things she had never even realized she was doing; and the more he listed off, she realized maybe he was right. Were all of her feelings a lie? And most importantly--

“Why didn’t you stop me?” 

Hard eyes, and an even harder tone spoke to her heart. “I don’t know.” 

That was it. The moment she realized that closure wasn’t an option, because she had no clue what even she felt about everything. She felt sick, that was for sure. And she was certain that she could vomit into the bushes beside her, but she held her stomach in the godawful silence and prayed she would wake up from this nightmare soon. No matter how hard she pinched at her arms or at her shirt, she just couldn’t wake up. 

“Let me go. Please.” His hand reached out, grabbing her shoulder tenderly. His palm was hot compared to the brisk wind hitting her nose. “We’re done. It’s for the best.” 

He retracted his hand, rubbing it on the surface of his khaki pants. Ox turned on his feet unapologetically, only stopping to leave with one last pearl of wisdom. “Did you really love me, Kim--or did you just like having someone who wouldn’t leave like everybody else?” 

* * *

_ He’s haunting her.  _

Is she telling this to him or the ghosts in her home? She’s not sure but she is screaming it nonetheless. 

She’s screaming and kicking her clothes into piles, digging her feet into the floor until her toes break skin. 

Crying on the sofa, she decides to cry on the floor. 

To change the scenery-- _ shift the gravitational pull _ . (though she’s not sure she has one anymore.)

And if she does, is it weighing her knees to the core of the Earth? Beneath the floorboards. Underneath the rich soil of her thinly veiled infatuation. 

She pulled the roots out of the ground--cut them up and threw them into a compost bin of love eating worms made to coincide her cursed existence. 

_ Why didn’t you stop me?  _ She thought anemically. Cold realization washed over and through her, the chill converting to sulphurous heat as it settled in the bottomless pit of her stomach. He was right. 

Tears. Real tears begin to leak from her eyes and she makes no attempt to wipe at them, letting her vision blur as she lets her head fall back against the sheetrock wall. She’s tired of holding in her petty tears. Her body shivers and sobs yet she doesn’t hold back. There’s no one but her neighbors to hear her cries, so she lets it all go. 

The black moon bleeds silver through her finely-woven curtains--her room shrouded in pitch dark. She can dream a scenario if she looks hard enough at the radio static clouding her vision: walking alone on an ethereal moonlit path or gazing at the stars in a soft bed of grass. A fantasy world where she’s alone. Where there’s no unattainable expectations or people to please. 

Perfect solitude. 

Swollen eyes begin to blink the tears away. Her soft, but deep breaths lull her back to reality. As the light lies on these white walls, the dirty floor, her hands--she drifts off to sleep. A vivid, more detailed world where she can be free. One where she isn’t the monster she knows she is. Where she too can be spotless and unmarred by pain and guilt, regret and anger. 

Where  _ she  _ can be happy.


	4. stage 4- depression: farewell in stagnant steps

Inky black water drips out of the rusted spigot like sprinkling rain. Grainy mold lines the old porcelain tub. Kim’s head knocks against the back and her eyes are stuck to the concaving ceiling, seeping water falls onto her nose. 

Her fingernails are tapping on the base at the tempo of the drips, hoping that he’s somehow feeling it on his frontal lobe. There’s no reason she should think this way, no scientific research done on the connection of her rhythmic drumming and his cognitive behavior. But if she didn’t continue this charade in the decrepit scene of the bathroom in her childhood home she thinks she might die. 

Her legs are weighed down by the magnetic pull of the earth, unable to grapple to safety. As much as her mind is screaming at her to pick herself up, her fingers remain tapping--if she didn’t continue this fallacy of routine to end the blurred hours she’d have no reason to move. 

She can’t really see her hands, only imagines them. Picking up her finger, the tension of her nail bed as she drums it on the metal. Like an angel, watching attentively from the heavens, but powerless against the all-too-human experience. 

When will it stop? The dripping, the thoughts, the creaking from the floorboards outside the door. When her nail breaks? Leaving it burning and bleeding and thin. When the black mold grows over her limp form? Fossilizing the manifestation of her vain incessantness. 

Who cares? She put herself here.

Kim finds the strength in her to force her dirty legs out of the tub, scraping her hands at the black around it. Glass shards line the tile, floating atop pools of water gushing from under the sink. The light flickers on-off, and she still can’t _see_ her damn hands. 

There’s incomprehensible yelling faintly heard from the other side of the stained door, echoing in her ears at the same speed of the steady stream nipping at her toes. 

The voices are familiar, cold. They scream her name with venom dripping from their tongues. 

The floor splashes as she walks to the mirror, glass scratching at the pads of her feet but she can’t feel a thing. 

Her reflection is cracked, face blotted out in a murky shadow obstructing her features. She grabs at her hair and pulls it through her fingers. It’s grayer than before, the natural pink hue fading into the poorly-lit background. 

The old A.C rustles from above her head, spitting out dust and a cold breeze. The air whispers taunts at her ears and she follows, reaching out to touch the fractured glass still intact on the mirror. She can’t see her fingers, but she knows they bleed--hot and crimson red, cascading down the rifts between the shards.

She can’t feel it-- _god, why can’t she see her fucking hands?_

__

The doorknob violently shakes beside her and she throws her weight against the door. The wood splinters poke through her thin shirt and she can’t feel the pain, only the pressure. This feels like a distant memory, deja vu in a new body--bigger than the one she remembers falling onto this door.

But she doesn’t remember the blood in the sink, or the rusted faucet, the muddy water leaking from the toilet. Like a warped version of her past, it feels almost surreal. An amalgamation of her worst fear and the reality of it all. 

The shaking stops. Everything does. The flooding, the muffled screams, and the whispers. This is the madness of Asura all over again and it feels _too_ real. She can’t stick her hand through a phantom door, dissolving it with the rest of her grotesque delusions. There’s not an eye in sight, watching her from the light fixtures or behind her in the mirror. There’s not a soul for miles. Even on the other side of the door, where remnants of the past argue of her worth, it can’t be real. 

Nothing here is human--nothing here is alive. 

Not even her. 

And if she is or was, then she feels like a spectre haunting the place she died. Her gawkish, ghostly eyes sag to the floor while her soul floats above her, away from her mortal form. Is the fourth wall just an illusion too? She’s breaking it right now. 

The silence makes her head ring, shriek with the loudest whistle one could imagine. But it doesn’t exist. Nothing does here. 

She doesn’t know this. It’s only a guess. It’s a guess that borders on the outcomes of exploration or death--if she opens the door, what lies behind it? Will the voices in her head manifest or can she leave this scene behind? 

Whispers make themselves clear, ringing in her head once more. 

“Open the door.” She whispers to herself, guiding a limp hand to the handle. It’s cold and the bronze finish is scraping off, but she turns it anyways, hesitantly opening the door to the great unknown. 

The hallway is an empty labyrinth with peeling wallpaper and ripped floors, cigarette burns and broken bottles. Her bare feet daintily step from the tile to the scratchy carpet, like the ones in churches and school buildings. The scent of must and mold hit her nostrils but she can’t feel it in her lungs, it only dies in her throat and leaves through her exhaling mouth but she can feel it in the air. Humid must, wet mold. 

There’s doors, doors everywhere. Lining the hallway in the same fashion of a house. The same splintered and stained bedroom doors, the same flickering light above her head. It’s like an old rickety house at three a.m when you’re a child, afraid of the monster lurking behind the corner, or the darkness at the bottom of the creaky stairs. 

Was she safer in the bathroom, or the maze she found herself aimlessly wandering? Each door held some kind of foreboding secret in its planks, one pulling her to its silver knob while the other’s pulled her in their directions. 

The rain seeped through the roof, each puddle being illuminated by each blink and flicker. She was going in circles. It was seen in her wet footprints left on the carpet. Rolling thunder filled her ears and she prayed that lightning would strike the mess she was in, setting it on fire and burning it to the ground. 

Or she could choose a door--the one that screamed business or of fame, the one that spoke of family or the one promising solitude. She let her feet wander the door mats of different possibilities, but each time she stepped closer they grew louder. Yelling her name amongst the falling rain. 

She had to pick one. Just one. But she couldn’t. 

Until the guilt fell on her shoulders and she ran to a random door, not the most promising, or the most desiring, but of mediocre destiny, offering contentment. 

She was fine with being content. At least she wouldn’t have to struggle anymore. 

The door was light and easy to push. Behind it, the moon was bright and lit up the trees. Birds quietly sang of the night and ripe fruit grew off of the branches. She stepped in with ease, sauntering through the forest, crunching the leaves below her feet. 

It was calm and hushed and the sage moon looked over her, too. It’s teeth weren’t bared or bloody, or black. A soft smile graced its face and now they were looking at each other. Perhaps she _was_ the only living thing in this nightmare. The moon’s eyes were cold and dead, Kim felt like she was looking at a picture. 

Her stomach dropped. The calm isn’t real, the hush too. 

The moon collapsed below the horizon, falling under the floor. The sky midnight blue, limpid and listless. It was gone. 

And now her steps were aimless again, breaking sticks and eggshells and crunching rocks. She felt bones crack, and a hiss to follow. The rattle of snakes echoing from among the trees, which towered over her now, looking upon her messy hair and clutched stomach. 

Snakes slithered rapidly through the rocks, chasing and jumping at her bare feet. How quickly contentment turned sour. If only she hadn’t questioned it. Maybe she’d still be sauntering without a care, nothing chasing her to reality. 

The rattlesnakes hung from the trees, swinging from the branches and clinging onto her back. Her screams didn’t make any noise, and if they did, no one was there to hear. 

The moon was dead, and she had killed it. 

Is God dead too? Is he hearing her among the boundless trees, can he save her? If he can then why won’t he come? Maybe her soul is just god-forsaken, maybe all witches are. 

Does she not deserve contentment? Does she have to suffer?

The ground opens up beneath her, swallowing her body abruptly. The snakes fly through the air and go back to their vacant county. Back to where God doesn’t exist, and contentment is made not to be questioned. 

* * *

She’s fallen on her back, her clothes are ripped and tattered, hanging onto her form by thin threads. 

The room is more familiar now, just like before. This time, it’s her bedroom back in Death City, clothes scattered around the room, bed unkept and books have fallen off the shelves. Her curtains are drawn open, revealing a black moon and flaming scarlet sky hanging over broken homes and empty streets.

A calendar hangs alone on her bare walls. October 31, circled in black marker. 

She’s all alone and she can’t bear to look. 

Did she make it all up? Pacing around the cold floor of her apartment she wonders if she’ll ever be happy again. 

She needs to stop asking what she’s thinking if the world can't see her. She doesn’t know, and she doesn’t care. She doesn’t see the world anyways. 

She sees _him_ , and it is a nightmare. 

Her eyes dart from corner to corner and she can see his apparition in the shadows, a silhouette molded from red light shining through the windows. 

Looking through the glass she sees him in the dust mites making her sneeze.

Looking through her dresser drawers she sees him in the articles of clothes he never approved of. She doesn’t care, she wears them anyways. Kim doesn’t like them either, if she’s honest, but she likes to see him squirm when she puts them on. 

The room still smells like him, even after washing the sheets and scrubbing the walls and throwing out his stupid jackets he still lives here. 

So she might as well embrace it. 

Laying in her dirty sheets brings the fallacy of his body still knowing hers, shutting her eyes feels like signing a death wish. Looking into the corners of her life she feels sorry for the spiders with their silk cobwebs and their homes having to watch her mourn what never was. 

It hurts at night, and even in the most familiar places, nowhere feels like home. 

Her blank wall could use a picture, something to fill the empty space, make it more cozy. She’s always been afraid of pictures, though. Something about their eyes, a cold stare, silently judging from a safe distance. It doesn’t _feel_ safe. 

She has a few pictures with him. Shoved into drawers and tucked away in old notebooks used for bookmarks. They’re sticking out of the creases. Calling for her to reminisce of the memories printed in ink. She should have shredded them long ago. 

That would have been the responsible thing to do. Or maybe the petty thing if you had asked someone else. She hoped that the pictures would fade on their own, that with enough neglect they would dissolve into another universe. Or something. Any other universe than the one she inhabited. Her happy, alternate self would probably appreciate them way more than she did. 

Was that stupid, most likely. But it was easier than seeing him smile. Looking back on a time where they thought they were happy. If happiness wasn’t just a shallow illusion, anyways--washing to shore and rolling away like waves on a beach with glass shards for sand. 

Her worst fear, though, was looking at his picture, and finding he doesn’t look how she remembers. Because it’s the smallest details that you miss, that you can’t quite place. The ones you don’t realize can change so quickly. 

There’s something so devastating about realizing you don’t recognize someone anymore. When the parts you loved turned to something sickening right in front of your eyes. And sometimes it isn’t even bad. Sometimes, you make yourself believe that you should actually be happy for them. That the smile they never gave you can brighten someone else, because apparently you never deserved it in the first place. 

Or maybe he did give her that smile, and she just wasn’t paying attention. 

She let it slip away like more grains of glass shard sand between her fingertips. 

She could sink into these sheets forever if eternity was a thing. Her glassy stare morphed the ceiling into a hypotonic projection right above her, and the vertigo swayed her body comfortably now, like a baby being cradled to peaceful sleep. 

Was this hell?

Did she die? 

No, she couldn’t be dead, she wasn’t ready yet. True hell is fire and brimstone and the devil branding the skin on your back. Hell can’t be this personal, can it? Then again, if hell was real, it would be this very room. It would be this bed, these walls, his scent, and no hands to fix it. 

Only hands to open doors, only hands to lead her to destruction. Because apparently her mind isn’t enough. 

If suffering is eternal, then why does she sleep. Why does she rest? Wouldn’t it be easier to get it over with, throw it all away. There’s nothing but messy floors, glass shards, and flooding for her anyways. Nothing but serpents and stares and sympathy and people who don’t care. 

The door is open now, white light shines through it’s cracks and the sound of rain dissipates into the air behind her. Silence is the hand that beckons her to come, the end is the voice that draws her near. 

The sky is black and fog surrounds her body, a bag of bones she drags through dead grass, and treads near a cliff’s side. The sun doesn’t shine here, the only light emanates from the bottom of the decline. Soft white. 

Her pace is slow, but steady. Things had changed. Something like a dream had come and gone as quick as summer showers. She was _finally_ alone here. No screams, no snakes, and no shadows. Her thoughts were growing scarce, like the ghost of a whisper that had grazed the shell of your ear and disappeared into the air. 

The wind was blowing softly, rustling dead leaves through the scenery. Now she walked with an added heaviness, a heart of lead weighing on her chest, bricks for feet, her steps no longer as light. She was getting closer. Now her eyes would wander, drawn to her bruised feet, the color red, drawn to a lonesome tree on the other side, drawn to dead grass and the hellmouth before the fall. 

Her arms fall limp to her sides, her legs ache to wobble, but she remains stiff and unmoving. The weak breeze whispers nothing, but the floor calls her name. The bottom looks promising, it looks far, and if she reaches out she can almost imagine touching it. Feeling peace below her knees. 

Her feet shift back and forth in anticipation. Deep breaths, stand back. 

It’s time. 

Her toes peak over the edge and the wind sends her plummeting down. She’s free-falling on her back, and her eyes are locked shut. There’s not enough time to watch her end, she transcends space and time. 

She’s not done. 

A gust of wind brushes her hair, and gravity cradles her back. A rush of endorphins fill her stomach and she’s flying now. She’s dropping, but she’s floating and she’s rising above the clouds. She can see things clearer now. 

It would have all been okay, were she not halfway down. What now could slow the drop, she reaches ghostly hands for the safety back at top. She’s thrashing against the pull, a force of nature that proves faithful when all else fails. 

But this is it. The deed is done. Vacuum silence drowns the sound. 

Syliva Plath said it best, and Kim can’t help but repeat as she plummets “I am I am I am.” But what if she’s not? There is no solace in idle conviction when you scramble for release in death’s clutches. Is this what she wants?

Her body twists and it turns but her soul floats above her like a feather drifting in the wind. The distance swallows her for breakfast, chasing her down its wicked throat. It takes diligence, existential calmness, and consequence to keep herself from yearning, from longing to let a cold embrace take her over. 

Her eyes open one last time, a desperate attempt to take it all in. But she’s not falling anymore. With each exhale she feels herself sinking lower to the ground and with each breath she floats back to the middle. 

Can she come home now? 

Where the bright sun warms her face, where she can feel the grass in her hands. Where it rains sometimes, where it dries just as quick. 

Where she doesn’t quite belong, but it’s okay. There’s space for everyone back at home. Wherever home may be. Whether it’s under the sun, or piled under dirty sheets, or drinking coffee in the morning. 

Home doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be there. 

Can she come home now? 

Please. 

Can she come home now? 


	5. stage 5- acceptance: the show must go on

Rays of light flooded her sore eyes. She could make out the faint shadow of a person as she rubbed the fitful sleep out of her eyes. 

“Kim..?” a hand coming from the soft voice tapped her shoulder lightly from above her place on the floor. When her vision cleared up she could tell it was Jackie standing over her form that was backed up into the wall and huddled onto the floor. 

She was sitting in the same space she had fallen into the night before, on top a pile of heavily worn clothes she had been too lazy to wash. It hadn’t been the most comfortable place to doze off on, and now her thighs were aching from the lack of support. 

Her entire body was aching, beyond just her limbs, but an airy feeling washing through her internal organs filling her like a helium balloon. Like her soul had been yanked and pulled out of her body and shoved back in through her throat.

Visions of her terrible nightmare flashed in her eyes. It all felt too real. The white light, black fog, and free falling only to float against the gravitational pull grabbing at your back. She gathered the air in her body and let it out in one thin breath. 

“What’s going on, Kim?” Jackie plopped onto the floor next to Kim’s weak form. “What are you doing sleeping on the floor? I thought you were dead for a solid minute and a half!” 

“I talked to Ox yesterday-” 

Jackie shook her head and palmed her face, “I told you not to do that! Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“I’m Sorry I-”

“And by the way, I knew you talked to him yesterday. Harvar called and told me everything. I was worried something like this would happen.” 

Kim had two choices: lean against the wall and let Jackie lecture her, or do what she always does, and run away. It’s easier this way. 

Kim lifted herself from off the floor in a swift movement and walked as fast as she could to her door without throwing up or fainting from sheer exhaustion. Jackie had leaped to her feet just as fast and chased her through the apartment.

”I can’t just sit back and watch you dig your own grave, Kim.” 

She stopped dead in her tracks, staring into the disquieted eyes of her partner that she had seen too many times before. The hallways were bright from the early morning sun, and even standing six feet away from her she could see every piece of genuine concern painted from the sun rays onto her face. Time and time again, Jackie spread herself vulnerable before Kim, and expected nothing in return. 

This was all Kim’s fault. Everything. And she needed to accept that. 

“Can you  _ please  _ just tell me what’s wrong. I can help if you let me.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Kim threw her hands into the air in defeat, hopelessly giving up. “Everything is going to shit and there’s nothing I can do but sit back and watch.” 

Jackie apprehensively shifted closer, “I know.” 

Kim desperately waited for something more. An answer. A reason.  _ Anything. She’ll take anything.  _

“Then what do I do? How do I fix this?” Kim took the step closer now, slowly closing up the distance dividing them apart. 

“I don’t know.” 

_ Then who does?  _

“I have no idea, Kim.” she sighed. “But who does? I can try and help if you let me. We can figure something out together, like we always have.”

“But what happens when you finally get tired of me screwing up? Like everyone does. What do I do then?”

“Why do you constantly expect the worst of yourself? It’s like you plan on driving me away or something! I’m not going to leave you!” Jackie cried out and closed the gap, holding Kim tight in a warm embrace. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to cry. Not this time. 

“Do you promise?” Kim held her back just as tight. 

“Sure,” she laughed emptily, slowly letting out the tension that had been piling up. “What am I ever going to do with you?” 

And Kim laughed just as empty. “I don’t know.” 

They pulled apart and looked solemnly at each other, coming down from the climax of their argument. 

“I’ll tell you what.” Jackie rubbed her tired eyes, “Why don’t we get you into therapy or something? I know the school offers like twenty free sessions or something for students and staff. I’m not saying it’s foolproof but it’s worth a shot, right?” 

“Really? Where was this when we were students? That would have been helpful for a ton of kids after the defeat of the Kishin.” 

“Well,” Jackie said, “It’s here now. Are you willing to give it a try? At least one session. Please?” 

“It’s kind of new for me, but I want to get better.” Kim folded her arms against her chest. She didn’t know what she would possibly do without Jackie by her side. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, Kim.” she smiled, “Anytime.” 

* * *

Kim’s Earth had tilted precariously on its axis in the space of just a month. Well, a month and a half if you count the instigating moment everything shifted. She’d been scolding herself for wasting too much time in her slump, when she could have been using the energy she spent mentally tirading to fix it. 

There were only a few things she noticed when she uncomfortably entered her new therapist’s office. At least one cat picture was hung on every wall, blankly staring back at her tense body. The paint was colored a soft creme, reflecting discordantly with the dim yellow lights. The air conditioning shook above her head, blowing cold air into the room, leaving her wishing she brought a jacket. 

A middle aged woman stood up from her seat at Kim’s anticipated entrance. She radiated a calm, collected aura about her and had the face of a woman who’s heard it all. 

She held her hand out to Kim in a firm shake. “Hello, Kimial. I’m Dr. Garcia, it’s nice to meet you.” 

“Just Kim is fine. Nice to meet you too“ she said. 

“Alright then, Kim.” She gestured towards three red armchairs facing each other that sat in the center of the room. “Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll get started.” 

Dr. Garcia sat in the chair facing towards the other two and grabbed a clipboard from off the small coffee table positioned between all three of the chairs. Kim had taken her seat on the left chair. As she caved into the firm cushion, a thin layer of dust blew into her face and a strong, unpleasant scent of old perfume on red velvet furniture suddenly whisked by her nose. Kim sat bolted upright, trying persistently not to lean back into the smell. 

The room felt otherworldly. Or that she was being examined in a glass box, and Dr. Garcia is a scientist, picking apart every anxious tic and evaluating every word that leaves Kim’s mouth. Like any abnormal move would add to her growing list of problems that the doctor had already conjured and diagnosed. 

“Okay, before we start, can I ask you a few questions?” Her pencil was up and in hand now, ready to mark every wrong answer to some imaginary test that she was doomed to fail from the moment she stepped foot beyond the door.

She sat even straighter, more collected. “Sure, go ahead.” 

“Tell me some things about yourself. Anything is fine. Help me get to know you better.” 

Kim’s pounding heart slowed it’s pace. She was expecting some abstruse question, intended to make her dig deep and soul search for the answer to all of her evident issues. She knew better than to expect immediate progress, but the heart wants what it wants. That being said, she had no idea how to respond. Was she being expected to introduce herself, her profession, her dreams, her fears--or something as trivial as her favorite food? Plenty of ideas danced around in her head, but she was definitely taking too long to formulate a response. 

“You don’t have to think too hard about it,” Dr. Garcia kindly encouraged, “There’s no wrong answers, only thoughts.” She adjusted her posture and spoke once more. “Or maybe I can ask you a more specific question to help get your brain going?” 

Kim chuckled awkwardly, “Yeah, that would probably help.” 

“Of course,” Dr. Garcia generously smiled right back, she was definitely good at making sure conversations never felt too gauche. “What are your expectations for our time together? Not necessarily the reasons why you’re here, but why therapy was you’re next step.” 

That wasn’t a difficult question for her to answer at all. “I guess I hope to be cured of all this baggage that has been preventing me from just living my life like a normal person. I feel like every time I feel a semblance of contentment or even normalcy, I inevitably tumble back to rock bottom. I just want to know what’s wrong with me.” 

Dr. Garcia drew a heavy breath and contemplated her next words carefully. That surely looked like the response to a wrong answer if there was one. “I’m going to be extremely honest with you, Kim.” 

There it is. 

“I don’t believe in “being cured .” Pain is a necessary part of life, and everybody handles it differently.” She set her clipboard back onto the coffee table and held her hands neatly on her lap in thought. “I do believe, however, in recovery--in getting better. Recovery isn’t a linear process, though. Some days you’ll feel peaceful, and on others you’ll feel like you’re at the bottom of a deep chasm. My hope is that those bad days will start to seem less inevitable, and you’ll find it easier to pull yourself out of them with time, not that they’ll disappear completely.”

Was that good enough? Is this it? A whole life of constantly feeling like you’re trying to drain an emotional pool with a spaghetti strainer? Like no matter how much effort you put into being your best self it will all be in vain. 

“I can sense your disappointment,” She interrupted Kim’s train of thought. “Would you mind helping me understand why?” 

“If I’m never going to feel better, then what’s the point of trying? It’s not like I can control how I feel.” 

“You’re right,” She said, “You can’t control how you feel, but you can control your thoughts. If you learn to recognize why you feel a certain way, you can teach yourself to focus on a different perspective. Embrace the bad days, understand that they’re a part of life, and realize that there's so much more for it to offer you than what you’re feeling in that very moment.” 

“That’s a lot easier said than done.” 

“It is, and that’s okay.” She assured, “You’re not being tested or timed, you can take as long as you need. No one’s here to judge you. You can be better if you want to be,  _ you can be happy,  _ I promise.”

* * *

Recovery isn’t easy. That’s the honest truth. 

It’s exhausting, demanding, and tough and there’s days where you feel like it’s all for nothing. The days where you want to sink back into bed and stay under the covers for eternity--but it’s worth it. For every single day you drive yourself insane giving up on trying to be better, you have the good days that make up for it. 

Because good recovery can be mundane Tuesday mornings too. Where you're sitting on the kitchen bench, waiting for toast to pop up. Or the smell of a warm cup of fresh coffee, steaming in your hands as the scent fills your nose. It’s sitting at the table and taking a breath without the weight of the world filling your lungs for the first time in forever. It’s birdsong outside your window, and knowing your partner (and  _ friend)  _ will be coming home in an hour. 

It’s peace, despite how temporary it seems to last. No matter how deep you fall there’s the little things that can make you happy. 

When fleeting time is at a standstill, and even if it all crumbles tomorrow, you’ll one day stand here again. Sipping coffee, wiping it from your mouth, and watching placidly as gossamer clouds float under a constant sun. The picturesque scene of a woman who’s surviving, who’s peaceful, who’s not quite  _ happy  _ yet. 

Who’s getting there. 

* * *

Kim could barely comprehend that it was only a little over a month ago when her life had started to crumble. She had finally made it to the end of hell. Halloween day, the end of dreadful October. Where children run around blissfully high on sugar, and those who have long outgrown tradition gather to celebrate one of the largest, most long awaited holidays of the year. 

When she was younger, and when the world was wildly different than today’s, she would typically travel to the witch realm and attend mass, for traditions sake. Now that the treaty was signed, it wasn’t a rare occurrence to see another witch at a common house party. Especially among members of Shibusen’s own staff. 

That meant that she had as good as lost a good excuse to skip out on such an event. She enjoyed parties on a good day, sure, but her irrational October superstitions tugged in the back of her mind every minute. It was much more preferable to sleep it away in the comforts of her own home. 

Tonight, rather, she was sipping a Coke in Kilik’s kitchen and people watching. She wasn’t much in the mood to socialize, it was much more interesting to sip slowly and listen in on every passing conversation over the faint Halloween music running on a loop of the same three songs in the background. 

Kim checked the microwave clock behind her. It was only nine P.M, would anybody judge if she went home? 

Out of the blue, Jackie popped up from behind and rested her hand on Kim’s shoulder. She had jumped and the drink in her hands swished in the cup and on to her hands. 

“Oh my God, Jackie. Don’t do things like that!” She set her cup onto the counter and wiped her hands on her skirt. 

“Sorry, Sorry.” She threw her hands up. “I just wanted to say how proud I am of you.”

“And what did I do, exactly?” Kim asked. 

“ I can only imagine how hard it is pulling yourself out of a slump, but I see the effort you put in, and I can notice the difference, I'm proud of you.” 

As much as she hated the surprise, she appreciated the sentiment. Kim’s heart jumped at the fact that she was proud of her. That maybe her efforts  _ had  _ led somewhere. “Thank you. It actually means a lot to me.” 

“Of course,” Jackie poured herself a drink from the nearest counter, “Like I said, I’m always here.” 

“Well, don’t be afraid to put me in my place when I deserve it.” Kim took a light sip from her cup. “I still need someone to call me out on my bullshit.”

“When have I  _ not  _ called you out on your bullshit?” 

“You’re truly my godsend, Jacks. I really don’t know what I’d do without you…” 

In the corner of her eye, Kim spotted Ox and the one witch from the meeting a couple of weeks ago. She was practically hanging off of his arm, laughing at every other word he said. Jackie had noticed Kim staring at the pair and looked back at them too. 

“Do you think they’re together now, like officially?” Kim asked. 

”Depends how she is with titles. How long did it even take you before you even started to call him your boyfriend?”

“Uhh-” Kim took another drink to stall, “I don’t remember. A while, I’m pretty sure. Probably something to do with my trust issues or something, I’ll figure it out.” She flicked her hand and shrugged. He wasn’t worth the effort anymore. 

“Take your time, Kim. You’ll figure it out.” 

Kim watched him more closely this time around. He spoke with confidence and had a sparkle in his eye that Kim had only seen in him when they were young. She was almost happy he had found it again. 

“You know, I think he has a type.” Jackie cocked her head like a puppy and chuckled to herself. 

“No,” Kim said, “I’m pretty sure it’s just poor taste.” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t say that. If you’re referring to yourself I wouldn’t necessarily call  _ you _ poor taste. More like-”

“More like what, huh?” Kim teased. 

“An acquired taste, i think. It definitely takes a while to get used to you, but once you do…”

”Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“ _ Is it _ making you feel better...?” 

“Yeah, I guess it is.Thanks.” 

When Kim looked back in his direction, the witch was gone. She felt the naive urge to talk to him. She had no clue what to say. To apologize, maybe. There was a large chance he would turn her away, and an even bigger chance that she would make a scene if she couldn’t keep words from flying out of her mouth. This was her only chance, he was open. And more than anything, she needed closure. 

“I think I should talk to him, at least apologize. I owe him that. I think. Or at the very least it might make me feel a little bit better.” 

“Are you sure?” Jackie asked, “The last thing I want you to do is get your night ruined.”

“I’ll be fine.” Kim reassured, “Tell you what, if i feel like shit afterwards, I’ll leave, okay? If I remove myself from the situation and think about it I should be able to manage a little better. But I should do this, for myself if anything.”

Jackie crossed her arms and looked at Kim like a mother questioning her child. “Okay, just make sure to tell me if you want to leave. I don’t want you hiding your feelings from me again” 

“I promise, It’s okay.” 

“Good luck, then.” 

Kim walked slowly to the couch. Ox was standing directly behind it, drink in hand and casually observing the room. She held her head down, afraid to make any eye contact before she actually talked to him. This was a poorly structured plan if any. 

If he had noticed her before, he made no indication of it by the time she arrived. He simply waved his head around and kept quiet. 

“Hey,” Kim said, her voice was soft. Maybe it would catch his attention that way. “How have you been?” 

“I’ve been fine.” He stated flatly. It was evident that he was still sour over the last interaction. As much as Kim didn’t care to admit it, he had every right to be. She was doing this for both of them, he deserved an apology. It was only right. 

Her legs shook beneath her. She was afraid to mess this up too. To say the wrong thing, to embarrass herself like she had once before. 

She’s changed. She’s strong. She can do this. 

Kim let out a deep breath, “Listen, I just wanted to apologize for the shit I've done. You don’t have to forgive me or anything. I want to acknowledge it and… I do...hope you’re happy. You deserve it.’’

He turned his head and gave a weak smile, “Thank you Kim, I appreciate the sentiment. I hope you’ve found your happiness as well.” 

His statement ended in awkward silence. Kim wasn’t ready to leave just yet, she still felt like there was so much more she wanted to say and yet he just refused to speak to her. Oh well, she probably deserves it, anyways. 

Kim had turned her heels, ready to leave, when the girl came back with two cups in her hands. She stood beside Ox and handed him his drink. For the next minute they both stared at Kim silently. 

“Oh,” Ox apprehensively broke the silence. “I don’t think you and Kia have met.” 

“Hello,” The witch held out her hand, “I’m Kia, nice to meet you.” 

“Oh, Kia? I’m Kim, that’s funny.” she laughed awkwardly, “Nice to meet you.” This was already becoming a disaster. 

“Ah! You’re Kim. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Her voice reeked of feigned politeness and her strained smile did nothing to hide it. 

“Only good things, I hope.” Kim said. Though she knew that had to have been far from the truth. 

“Haha, yeah, you can say that, I suppose.” 

Maybe Ox does have a thing for bitchy women. 

Now would be the perfect time to exit the scene, her stomach was starting to churn. She made her peace, and maybe now she could move on. There’s only so much you can do, so much you can say. Sometimes the closure given isn’t what you want, but it’s what you need. 

She hopes he’s happy.

* * *

Kim’s hands were still shaking. If someone would have told her a month ago that  _ she  _ would be the one apologizing to him, she would have insisted they were crazy. 

She shut the bathroom door behind her, inhaling as her hands gripped the countertop to steady her trembling legs. By her standards, nothing world shattering had happened, but the aftershock of pent up anxiety tends to appear at the worst moments. She just needed a minute to compose herself. 

Looking in the mirror gave a sense of deja vu. She felt like she had been standing and crying in foreign bathrooms millions of times over the last month. It felt different this time around, though. She didn’t feel compelled to let her nerves turn into tears, to collapse onto the ground, or at least fall over the sink. 

She inhaled. 

And exhaled. 

And smiled. 

It wasn’t a big one by any means, it didn’t reach her cheeks or instill any kind of victorious excitement in her--but it was there. 

She could tell herself that it’s okay. That  _ everything’s _ okay now, even if it would take a shit ton of work to recover from. She can stand in front of the mirror without needing to hold onto something. She can look into her eyes and acknowledge how bright they are now, without sore redness shrouding the color. 

She can breathe-and exhale-and breathe again without it circling through a profuse filter of pain, and anger, and sadness all at once. She can simply let the air in, and let it out. That was a milestone, if any. 

Kim’s still pretty sure she hates October. Hopefully one day she’ll be able to turn the pages of her calendar without sighing and expecting the worst. 

For now, she’s glad it’s over. And that’s enough. 


End file.
